CHARGE!
by Elvish-Princess99
Summary: Alas, rotten flesh and muscles weren't up to producing anything that would look nice in the history books.


_A.N.: I haven't been active in the realm of fanfiction for some time. (For those as may care, I am really very sorry.) I have still been writing, but instead have been concentrating my efforts on original work. For better or for worse. However, sometimes the Muse will strike and late one night some months ago, it did. I'd been playing this game (well, it wasn't going to be Pokemon...) and was just about to go to bed. And as I prepared, an idea hit me. A ridiculous one. But for some reason, I decided to run with it. The result languished on my hard-drive, with my believing there was no real home for it and yet too attached to give it the heave-ho. And then, recently, I saw this category. Which explains why this random slice of craziness is being inflicted upon you. Thank you for reading and, if time permits, a comment on it would be extremely welcome.

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As I saw the icicles, out of the corner of my one semi-unrotted eye, spread across Bert's face, all I could think was, Goddamn, I'm glad I ain't in that lane. For once, it was genuine shock that meant this thought consumed my mind rather than the speed of my thinking, which was about as slow as the shambling shuffle that was meant to be a desperate charge.

Alas, rotten flesh and muscles weren't up to producing anything that would look nice in the history books. Although admittedly, the highest we could aspire to in that respect was likely "_Garden Attacks Through the Centuries- Chapter Eleven: Why Zombies Create a Hostile Environment_."

An 'oof' would have escaped my mouldering lips were I in possession of vocal cords as pea after unboiled pea thudded into my stomach. My eye rolled slowly to look up the lane and I saw the accursed pea-shooter that blocked the lawn-mower of my goal. Just behind it bounced those wretched sunflowers, occupied with their perpetual bouncing and their constant grinning. It made me even more tired simply to -effortfully, granted- look at them.

Suddenly, a great hunk of browness filled my vision. Damn. A Wall-nut.

Well isn't that perfect.

I set to work dutifully, traffic cone slipping over my eye as I did so, tearing away at the thing in front of me. It grinned inanely at me as I did and I really had to wonder how aware the stupid thing was of what was going on. Slowly, its grin slipped somewhat as I progressed further.

I was slowing; those damn peas were still being hurled at me, and I was sure they'd dented my traffic cone. I liked that thing! Around me, the sounds of battle were on-going. Bert had long since fallen to the peas and I could hear Walter roaring in mindless rage as a pea soared by him, complete with his newspaper. The sound was quickly followed by his rampaging. He achieved this at a speed that I truly, truly envied.

I sighed slightly; he'd been a good zombie, and he'd damn near finished the crossword. Twenty pounds as well. _Ah well_, I mused, _such is death_. However, Walter must have been angrier than I'd thought. Seconds later, an incoherent screech of pained anger and…the buzz of a lawnmower as it careered crazily through the shambling ranks and out into the road.

My mouth slowly twisted into a grin, costing me a few shreds of flesh. True, success meant shredded fin-death but it was worth it for the cause. That graveyard was bloody crowded and the crypts were heaving with sulky bloodsuckers who were upset at our distressingly empty veins.

All we wanted was a bit of land to call our own, for goodness' sake. As another lawn-mower's noise suddenly filled my ears and it veered past me, I allowed myself to entertain the thought that we might win this battle. This gardener seemed rather more inept than any I had encountered before. Sometimes, you struck lucky.

Likely they were new to the game- didn't quite know how to deploy their plants properly, what was good for what, no dedication, etc. I would have lamented this decline in standards for a moment had it not been a decline in my favour. Even if a lawnmower mowed me down, if we won…then all it would take would be a couple of hours in the soil and voila. Rejuvenated zombie…or as rejuvenated as it was possible for an animated hunk of rotting flesh to be. Finally, I reached the pea plant and a grin spread across my face once more. "My," I rasped, "I'm going to enjoy this…"

Dark, moist, cramped. While they weren't the customary conditions for celebration, they nonetheless heralded one.

That I was conscious and clearly underground in good, yet unfamiliar soil meant we'd won and I was here for recovery. About done too, by the feel of things. Indeed, as I mused upon this, light spread in a thin line above my head and bits of earth pattered down as a shovel broke the skin of the freshly dug hole that I'd been entombed in. Bert peered in and grinned as he saw me. "You're awake; good." He extended a hand as he uttered this, and I saw the garden that only yesterday had been a battle-ground.

They'd done a good job; one could almost mistake it for a normal party if one's standards of normal were blood and brains for refreshment and vampires and zombies for guests. As it happened, mines were. I took a closer look at Bert- his skin was a pale blue still and likely ever would be for reasons that were inexplicable and would probably remain so.

We didn't know if any of us had ever been scientists; one didn't retain very many memories of Life, and what you did was never detailed. The closest any of us ever came to scientific enquiry was a vague, "Oh, is his skin still blue? I wonder why that is…" And then our attention would drift off, probably returning to brains. I often considered that it was a miracle we were capable of remembering names.


End file.
